


Never Again

by ZozzleberryFin



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: God Complex, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Light Angst, Murder, Other, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZozzleberryFin/pseuds/ZozzleberryFin
Summary: Alastor has fucked up, and with no where to run, he decides to take his life into his own hands.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> This passage contains suicidal actions, self deprecating thoughts, and reference to murder, if any of these things unsettle you, please procede with caution.

He'd fucked up.

How he had managed to do so so thoroughly after so many years of caution was beyond him, but nonetheless it was true. He felt jolts of electricity run through him with each imagined siren he thought he heard echoing through the trees to reach his cabin. The cabin that smelled of blood no matter how much he tried to cover it up, be it because of some distant form of entirely unwelcome conscience or a genuine smell that drowned out the countless different air fresheners he'd tried. 

A shame, but not very regrettable in the grand scheme of things. While in the past this place had been a grand rendezvous where he'd taken part in the simple pleasures of the company of those he could almost honestly say he held dear, he'd long since taken care of any people he'd have considered trustworthy enough to reveal the location of this most private of places to. At the time he'd thought those crimes to be a show of strength; proof of his triumph over such weak human shackles as "morality" and "friendship."

He didn't feel strong now. His body, which he usually could claim to be proud of for all he'd groomed it, was now trembling pitifully as he stood before the bathroom mirror. His mind was reeling and scrambling frantically about as it struggled to pick up the pieces, to find a solution, an exit. 

How could he have been so utterly foolish? Was his old age getting to him? He'd never considered it much before now, after all he was only in his 40s and he was just as capable of his atrocities as he was when he was younger, but what else could explain his folly? To leave the broadcast open while he'd shot his producer? If he hadn't already completely surrendered to his ill advised god complex he would think himself an idiot. As it stands he could hardly believe himself capable of such complete stupidity, and his mind was struggling to comprehend the reality it was met with.

When he'd realized his mistake he'd tried to play it off as some improvised radio show. It had worked, for a time; but in his panic he had fled, not even making an attempt to hide anything and on the drive to his cabin hideaway he'd heard over the radio the broadcast detailing the man hunt for him that was currently underway.

Thinking back on it the entire ordeal had been foolish. He was usually a patient man, and on any other day he'd have been patient enough, sensible enough, to lure his victim to a safer location. But he'd been nervous, he'd messed up on his previous kill as well and this person had pushed him over the edge one two many times that day. It was inevitable, really. He may have been losing his touch.

As he thought this he took a shaky breath, finally regaining some semblance of calm. They wouldn't be able to find him until they found out about this place, and since anyone who'd heard of the place was dead that would take a bit of time. He could do this. 

He was disgusted with his weakness. All this power he'd wielded over life and death, for all his egoism, the sound of his name being spoken on the radio had shaken him to his core. Was that really all it took to shatter the towers of power he'd toiled endlessly to construct across his mind? A few words of an emotionless radio host, not even putting in the effort to make the announcement of his name any more exciting than the weather forecast, had destroyed everything he'd built over the past three decades. He thought made him clench the sides of the sink in his grip ever more tightly, as if strangling the voice that had announced his crime like it was not even worth the bat of an eye-lash.

A growl rose in his throat, and quickly rose into a cry of defiance. No. He was not weak. He had proven himself strong, had built his power physically and mentally, had proclaimed himself a god over life and death. He would not let the premonitions of electricity running through his body, shocking his nerves into submission, come to fruition. No one held sway over his life other than him. He chose when his life would end, just as he'd chosen for so many others.

He cursed his trembling hands as he peeled them from the rim of the sink. He staggered out of his bathroom and into the kitchen where he kept his spare gun. He shakily brought the pistol to his head. He chuckled halfheartedly, remembering a time when he'd thought the notion of him doing such a thing was ridiculous; when he'd thought the idea of such an act was repulsive. But now that he thought of it, this, too, was inevitable. He would allow no one to end his life without his permission, not even time itself. Strange how he'd never been able to draw the line until now, to this conclusion of how he had chosen to lead his life would come to be. It was so obvious, and he felt himself begin to laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it all.

He realized with horror that he was crying, and in the determination to not let his final act be a show of weakness a scream of defiance ripped out of his throat, and was immediately cut off. Replaced by the echo of a gunshot.

\----------------

He was falling.

He had no idea how long he'd been falling for, only that it felt like it had been happening for forever. He remembered a brief moment in time when he had been screaming as well, his body shifting and morphing into a new shape and tearing tye fabric of his being with unimaginable agony. He knew the body he held now was different from the one he had spent his life cultivating. Yet, somehow, he couldn't feel grief at the loss. Not when the loss of that false power he had built up so foolishly had been replaced by this rippling under his skin and coursing through his veins. He felt a creature living in this new body, and though it ate at his insides with every breath he took he knew that it was his to control.

When he finally struck the ground it did not impact him like it should have. The creature living inside of him had instructed him to snap his fingers and he had obeyed. Immediately the monster leapt out of his body and for a split second he felt terror as a vortex opened under him, only for the creature to reach up and cushion his fall. He felt a rush of power at commanding this creature that he had never felt before when killing. He snapped again and the creature returned to his body, and he felt it writhe in pleasure at being used, and it no longer ate restlessly at his insides. He smiled, and in that moment he decided that he would never again let that smile leave his face. 'You're never fully dressed without one,' he thought ruefully and chuckled.

At that thought he looked down at his clothing, and upon realizing the clothes he was wearing were tattered and barely covering him almost broke his previous promise. He looked around and was glad to see that no one paid him any mind as he scrambled to his feet. He spared a few glances for his new body before immediately seeing someone with a moderately decent looking outfit and jumping them in an alleyway to take it for himself. 

The next problem, aside from the disgruntled...thing currently chasing after him was the fact that he could not summon a voice from his new throat, which he despised as he'd thought his voice had been quite pleasant previously. He snapped and the beast in his flesh devoured his pursuer. He finally stopped running and leaned against a wall in thought.

The creature in his skin, who he had begrudgingly begun to think of as his subservient guide, once again instructed him so snap his fingers. This time when he did a sceptre-like object appeared in front of him, hovering briefly before clattering to the ground. The creature writhed in displeasure under his skin and a voice layered in radio static quipped, "Is this how you treat your gifts? How shameful!"

"Yes, yes, well you can hardly expect me to- wait, where is my voice coming from?" He asked, looking around.

"The staff, obviously. Pick it up, we haven't all day," the creature bristled and Alastor rolled his eyes and picked up the object on the ground.

"What's with this pitchy tone?" Alastor tapped the microphone and the creature coiled in his veins.

"And now you're complaining! Ungrateful little brat, you're lucky I'm so kind," the creature replied.

"Er, well, apologies dear inhabitant, can I call you that? No, wait, I will call you that, right," Alastor nodded to himself and he heard a faint groan through the sceptre.

"Nevermind that then, let's get moving," the creature dismissed.

"And what will we be doing, good inhabitant?" Alastor asked, getting into the rhythm of talking through a radio again.

"Why, proving your strength, of course! It's sure to be very entertaining," the creature said and writhed in pleasure under his skin. Alastor smiled cruelly.

He would not allow anyone to call him weak again. He would destroy anyone who even implied that he was anything less than the god he'd proclaimed himself to be. He was strong, finally, and no feeble words would ever take that from him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So! I'm sure you've noticed that there are a lot, like probably too many creative liberties that I have taken in this work. I wrote this very spontaneously at 2:30 AM and I honestly just wanted to have fun with the character. Imma list the headcanons here, because I feel there are too many.
> 
> Headcanons:  
> Alastor is very insecure about his strength (probably because of some underlying trauma) and murders to prove that he was strong (more to himself than others).  
> Alastor has a minor-to-severe god complex.  
> Alastor committed suicide (this may be less of a headcanon and more of a narrative choice).  
> Falling into hell takes a while.  
> The body morphes into it's demon shape while falling into hell.  
> The tentacles Alastor uses are a tentacle monster that lives in his body and is the second voice that speaks through his sceptre.  
> Alastor's voice comes from his sceptre (I'm not entirely sure this is a headcanon, but just in case).
> 
> This was not intended to have so many, and it was definitely meant to be shorter, but I love writing dialogue and character interactions and internal monologues are so fun I just-
> 
> I also only very briefly proofread this so if you see anything wrong please let me know.
> 
> But anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Though I'm not sure this will be read since there's no ship :'(


End file.
